Get Some!
by Marcus Reyner
Summary: HUNK ain't got nothin' on Delta Chalk 1. Oh, wait, yes he does. Disclaimer: HUNK does not actually appear in story.  Reviews highly appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Preface: I would like to have it on record, before being accused of creating a Marty Stu, since this story's character shares my username, that my actual name is NOT Marcus Reyner. In fact, I've kind of had this brewing for a long time, and this is where that name came from originally. So, yeah. He's not a Marty Stu from that, find alternative evidence of such.

**CHAPTER 1: INSERTION**

"Whoo! Look at that down there, boys! A genuine, bonafide, true-to-life Shit Hits The Fan scenario! The god damned zombie apocalypse! It is beautiful, in its horror. Shit, man, I've been preparing for this since before I even signed up!"

Lt. Vincent Stalvern's voice easily rose over the chopper's propellers. He had always been a bit too into the job, but at least he was a happy man. Marcus had a theory that it was just a persona he put on.

He had known Vince for about 8 months, and he HAD gotten that degree in psychology in college, even worked as a therapist for a while. What he was doing in the UBCS...

"REYNER!" Vincent shouted, snapping Marcus out of his trance, a combined hypnosis of bad memories and the strangely soothing sounds of blazing fires, propellers, and the distant screams and gunfire. Marcus had heard these sounds so often while on duty, he could fall asleep to them.

"Sir?"

"You okay, buddy?" Vincent asked.

"Sir, yes sir!" Marcus replied.

Vince turned away, facing the rest of the squad.

"Alright, people! Brass check your weapons and safe them! I don't want to see any ADs, but I need you to be able to rock and roll when you need to!"

Marcus racked a round in his UBCS-issued M4A1, the 5.56x45mm NATO 62-grain round feeding into the chamber smoothly. He flipped the selector switch to safe and dropped the weapon into the loving embrace of his single-point sling.

He pulled his sidearm, a newly-issued SIG Pro SP 2009, which SIG was officially still testing prior to mass production. He racked the slide a quarter of the way, stopping at the sight of brass. He let the slide fly back into battery, and holstered the gun.

He had loaded it with 9mm Glaser Blues, from his last box of the personally-bought ammo. Umbrella officially issued Wolf ammo, because it was cheap, but the only reason to buy Wolf was that it was cheap. Umbrella was the most profitable company in the world, they could at least afford Federal.

But, no, they were stuck with Wolf. Well, not Marcus. He spent half of his monthly paycheck, which was a substantial amount of money, on mission-used ammo. He couldn't even write it off as a work expense... At least Umbrella issued real military-grade SS109 ball ammo for the M4s.

"GLASS!" Vincent shouted, referring to Phillip O'Neil, the squad marksman. Marcus had delusions that he was special, using his own personal ammo, but Glass actually topped him, using his own personal Springfield M1A, in .308, preferring it over the UBCS-issued Heckler and Koch PSG-1.

A few of the other marksmen made fun of him for using an M1A, rather than what they referred to as "H&K Perfection", but Marcus had fired both before, and honestly preferred the M1A. They fired very similar rounds and carried the same amount of ammo, but... Something about wood and steel made Marcus happy.

"The fuck you want, LT? Trying to sleep here!" Glass shouted back with a grin.

"That roof! We're gonna land there, clear it of hostiles!" Vincent ordered, gesturing to an apartment complex to the chopper's 3 o'clock, and the group of 4 rotters on it.

"You know I don't like shootin' from a chopper, LT! It's so tough to do!" O'Neil whined sarcastically. He loved showing off.

"You know I don't like givin' orders twice, Glass!" Vincent shouted back.

O'Neil grinned even wider, and flipped up his scope covers. He steadied the rifle on a rig, exhaled, and...

BANG! One zombie dropped, its head exploding in gore.

BANG! Another one.

BANG! BANG! The wall beside the next one's chest shattered. A quick follow-up shot took off its head.

BANG! The last one's knee exploded, sending it to the ground.

The chopper landed on the roof, and O'Neil pushed past everyone to run towards the crawling zombie.

"Get some, Glass!" Richard Calvins, the SAW gunner, shouted.

As the zombie reached it's hand up towards the O'Neil, as if he were begging for mercy, O'Neil brought his foot down hard, popping the thing's head like a gourd.

"Remember, No-balls, you owe me ten bucks as soon as we get back to base." Richard was a compulsive gambler, betting on anything. James Blanc was the new guy, recently attached to the unit. This was his first mission. He carried the squad's shotgun, a Benelli M3S.

Marcus had seen many of his kind die on their first mission. The young, naive little boy, who was only attached because he was a refugee from a fascist government. He hadn't even committed a crime, as most other UBCS troopers had. He reminded Marcus a little of himself, though. So maybe he just might survive. Zombies were an easy opponent, to be honest. Nothing like fighting fanatics with guns, which the last mission had been.

Marcus took in his surroundings, taking a deep breath that filled his nostrils with the stench of smoke and death. Raccoon City used to be a nice city. Marcus had lived there for a few months. He had found and lost a girlfriend in that city. He wondered if she was still alive. Probably not. This was no longer Raccoon City. This was a bad place.

"We sure this is Irons' place?" Marcus asked Vincent, as the chopper lifted off and headed back to base. Vincent waved him off, signaling that he was getting a message on his headset and walking away to talk to base.

O'Neil did a double-take at Marcus's question.

"Wait, what the fuck, Irons lives in an apartment? Fuck, man, if I had half the kickback money he gets, I'd buy a goddamn mansion somewhere." he grumbled, shaking his head.

"What do you mean, kickback money?" James asked.

"What, you mean you don't know?" O'Neil asked in mock surprise. He grinned, and continued. "Umbrella caused all this, man, and Irons knew. He helped them. He got fat wads of cash for keeping quiet and providing test subjects. That's why he stopped the S.T.A.R.S. investigation of the mansion incident, in the Arklay Mountains. It would have exposed Umbrella's illegal-"

"The S.T.A.R.S were full of shit, man; on drugs." Richard interrupted. "Probably killed the rest of their members themselves. Unprofessional motherfuckers." He spat as he said it.

"You're just mad they wouldn't take you because of that felony, Dick." Vince said, coming back from his conversation. "Enough chatter. Yes, Marcus, this is where Chief Irons is supposed to be, with a pick-up for us."

"If there were zombies on the roof, it would suggest the building is abandoned, sir!" James chimed in. The kid really wanted to fit in... Really eager.

Vince smiled, as one would to a small child pointing out something incredibly obvious.

"It sure would, James. If I had to guess, I'd say he's probably at the police station, as some reports over the comms indicate. But it's likely he left the package for us here. Zombies aren't going to touch a briefcase." Vince replied. "The package is the number one priority."

"What's in it?" James asked.

Vincent shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. Honestly, I've worked for Umbrella for 3 years, I know not to ask questions. Might not last long if you do."

James blanched at that. Marcus knew the look. The "What the hell have I gotten myself into" look, the one that all rookies shared. Minus ten confidence points for James.


	2. Chapter 2

Vincent led the squad down the stairwell, strangely quiet; more focused than he normally was.

James was extremely creeped out, jumping at every little creak of his own footsteps. Blood on the walls, corpses strewn about...

Marcus would be creeped out, too, if he hadn't seen the sights so often.

"That stuff about Umbrella wasn't true, was it?" James asked nervously, his whisper louder than some shouts.

"Sure is, bro." O'Neil replied. "Heard it from a guy in the USS, who cleans up this shit on a regular basis. Plus, his brother's a scientist who's high up in the company, works on this stuff."

"Man, Glass, you know the only USS dude you can trust is HUNK, and he doesn't have any family." Richard said. He snickered. "Dude wasn't even born. He was pieced together from the remains of Randy Shugart, Robert Cole, and Rasputin."

"Quiet!" Vincent whispered. He pointed to a door, 302, and signaled for the squad to stack up. O'Neil laughed.

"What are we being all tactical for, LT? They're just zombies!" he said.

"In fact, sir, being silent may actually get us shot, if we surprise a scared civilian with a gun." James chimed in.

Vincent considered this for a moment, then shrugged, laughing a bit.

"You've got a good point, James."

He walked over to the door and knocked.

"HUMAN!" He shouted.

There were two knocks back.

"Flash? I don't know the return code for that!" A nervous, mousy voice emanated from the room.

The door opened, a lanky young man behind it, a small Smith and Wesson automatic gripped tightly in his right hand. As he saw the squad, he sighed with relief, letting the gun slip from his hand and clatter to the floor.

O'Neil picked it up as the squad entered the apartment. As he examined it, he chuckled.

"No round in the chamber, dude. How did you expect to defend yourself with this?"

O'Neil racked the slide to chamber a round for the civvie, and handed the gun back to him, safed, hammer down.

"I don't know, man, I just found it in the Irons' desk over there, and since this other gun I found on cop was empty, I figured why not? I mean, I don't know much about guns, I'm just a bellhop for the Apple Inn." the kid said.

"How did you end up here?" James asked.

"That is awful convenient that you have the key to the police chief's apartment..." O'Neil said.

"Chief Irons is a friend of the family. My mom and dad went to college with him. Once those things showed up, I figured this was the safest place to be. I mean, I couldn't head to the police station, it's too far from the football field. And there's more than just zombies out there..." he said, shuddering.

"What do you mean?" Marcus asked, skeptically.

"Demons, man. Terrible demons." His voice broke as he spoke, shuddering violently. There was a moment of silence as his words sunk in.

Taking a deep breath, he continued.

"There's lots of them. And different kinds. There's this one with a long tongue, I've heard, and I've seen a lizard-man like one. The only reason I escaped that one is because it was busy with..."

His voice broke again, and his eyes began to tear up.

"I couldn't save her, man! I was too scared. I just let it EAT her, and I ran away!"

He let out a frustrated, anguished cry, and fell to his knees in tears.

After a few seconds of sobbing, he wiped his tears away, looking at the floor.

"I was gonna propose to her... At the big game..." he said, his voice wavering, pleading for comfort.

James patted him on the back, obviously uncomfortable.

"Alright, the briefcase should be somewhere in this apartment." Vince said, interrupting the moment of silence for the unnamed girlfriend.

"You check the desk, LT? Looks like there's some kind of special lock, probably a good place." O'Neill asked, kicking the bottom drawer.

"Fuckin' locked with three diamonds or some shit. I swear, this city and its fucking emblems. If I ever meet the architect for this city, I'll..." Richard trailed off, making a throat-wringing gesture.

"I don't have time for this bullshit!" Vincent growled, pulling his sidearm and blasting the lock three times, destroying it.

"You sure the briefcase is alright, sir?" James asked, as Vincent holstered his sidearm and pulled out the briefcase.

"It's made of some pretty tough stuff." Vincent replied.

There was a ting of metal as Marcus kicked a small item, and it hit the desk. He crouched to examine it. An unfired round. A .40 Smith and Wesson. He picked it up.

"Hey, LT, what do you make of thi-"

CHAK. The sound of a hammer being cocked.

"Put your guns down, NOW!" the lanky little fuck roared.

"Oh, hell." Marcus groaned.


	3. Chapter 3

"Put your guns down, or he dies!" the lanky young man said, holding his Smith and Wesson at James' head.

"Man, wish we had a camera rolling, so we could nominate you for an Oscar or some shit." Richard said, placing his SAW on the floor. The rest of the squad followed.

Vincent had dropped the case and drawn his sidearm the moment he heard the click. He didn't put it down.

"PUT IT DOWN!" the young man roared, mustering up more energy than Marcus had thought possible from him.

"You know the trouble with taking a hostage?" Vincent asked.

"If you don't put that gun down and hand me that briefcase, I am going to drill a hole in your man's head!" the guy was focused, that was for sure.

"Yeah, say you kill him. No more shield." Vince said, smirking slightly.

"He'll be dead!"

"So will you. He's expendable. Are you?" Vince asked.

The guy panicked, his eyes darting around as the rest of the squad started to pick up their weapons.

"I could kill you all before you get your weapons ready!" His voice broke. For real, this time.

Vincent laughed.

"No you couldn't."

The young man readjusted his grip on his gun, his hands sweaty.

"I even TWITCH, and he's gone!" he yelled.

"Maybe you won't even twitch…" Vincent said, almost a whisper.

The young man brought his gun to bear on Vincent.

BAM! Vince's gunshot rang loud in the small apartment.

There wasn't a second one.

The next sound was the sound of the young man hitting the floor.

James let out a long breath.

"Thanks, LT." he said.

"I don't like it when people threaten me or my men." Vince replied, shrugging.

"God damn, LT, that was like some Michael Mann shit or something. Never seen you shoot like that!" Richard said.

"I have. Back in Africa, similar situation. Put two rounds through the guy's face before he could even fall." Marcus said.

"Shit, LT, where'd you learn to do that?" Richard asked, whistling.

"Used to shoot for IPSC." Vincent replied, holstering his gun. "Let's get out of here."

"You think anyone would mind if I took this guy's wallet?" Richard asked, rifling through the guy's pockets anyways.

"It's officially against policy, but…" Vincent started.

"Let's see who this guy is…" Richard muttered, looking through his wallet. "Oh, fuck me."

"What is it?" Marcus asked.

"He's a company man. Works for Umbrella's science department. Mother fucker. What's in that briefcase, LT?"

"None of our business." Vince snapped, picking it up from the floor. "Let's head out."

As they left the apartment and headed down the stairwell to the lobby, James snapped out of his shock from being taken hostage.

"You think any of what he said was true?"

"What, like the monsters? I dunno. It was pretty specific for a lie. And why would you lie about that?" Richard replied.

"I thought you didn't believe in my theories." O'Neil said, laughing.

"Didn't say it had anything to do with Umbrella." Richard said.

"What about that guy, then?" O'Neil asked.

Richard shrugged.

"Dunno. That's what doesn't make sense. Why would Umbrella send more than one team to get this briefcase?"

"You hear that?" James interrupted. Marcus did. A hissing. Not steam or anything similar. This was air exiting something's lungs. Scratching, too.

"I hear it. And whatever it is, it can probably hear us. Stay frosty, boys." Vince said, pulling his SIG.

As the squad entered the lobby, some _thing_ jumped down from the ceiling. Something red, humanoid, with huge, bloodstained claws. It paused on the floor as the squad stared at it. It was pretty tough to look at. It was as if it had been skinned or something. No eyes, either. And an exposed brain… What WAS this thing?

James panicked, and yelped, raising his shotgun.

The thing's head spun to face him, and as it opened it's dagger-filled mouth, a sharp lance-like tongue flew out and stabbed through James's stomach. James pulled the trigger on his gun at that moment, blasting the creature's jaw and tongue off. But it was still alive. Before the rest of the squad could raise their weapons and fire, the thing jumped at him, pinning him down. Somehow, James was able to rack and maneuver his shotgun into the thing's stomach, and pulled the trigger again, blowing the thing's body in half, killing it.

Gore splashed onto the ceiling.

"Oh, God! It hurts!" James said, grabbing his stomach.

Vincent rushed over. "Lemme see it." he said, grabbing James's hand.

"Am I gonna die, LT?" James asked.

"No, I don't think so. The hospital's close." Vince replied. "Irons can wait."


	4. Chapter 4

The hospital lobby was pretty infested. But no more of those creatures, thankfully, so it was easy to clear out. But the zombies would be back. The gunfire would attract them. And now they had a reason to save their ammo.

As the elevator door opened, Marcus found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol identical to his own. As he looked past the muzzle, he saw Tyrell Patrick from Unit A.

There was a look of recognition in Tyrell's eyes, but he didn't lower the pistol. He instead swung it to aim at James, as he noticed the wound he was cradling.

"Hold it, Ty. He's not infected." Vincent said, raising his own sidearm.

"You sure?" Tyrell asked.

"Pretty sure." Vincent replied. "We need your help, though. He's been stabbed, and we don't have medical materials."

"What got him?" Tyrell asked, wary.

"A rowdy civilian." Vincent lied. Vincent never lied. Why now?

Tyrell looked around the lobby, and motioned for the group to enter the elevator.

"Richard, O'Neil, you two stay here and keep the lobby secure." Vincent ordered.

The two nodded, and set up a perimeter.

As the elevator hit the 3rd floor, a few gunshots rang out from the lobby, about 5 shots.

Tyrell motioned to follow him. They did, with Marcus bringing up the rear.

Room 307 was almost barren, save for a bed and a cabinet, and blood spatters on the walls.

Vincent laid James down on the bed. He was fading pretty fast, he'd lost a lot of blood.

Vincent rummaged through the cabinet, ripping out the drawers.

"Marcus, there's no morphine here, go fetch some. There should be a storage of it in the basement." He ordered.

"Yes sir!"

Marcus rushed out of the room, and headed to the elevator.

The basement was clear, as well. Nothing. Except two stasis tubes. Marcus ignored them and headed to get the morphine. It wasn't very hard to find, a clearly-marked drawer held a bunch of the stuff.

As he headed back to the elevator, he gave in to curiosity, and looked into the stasis tubes. He wished he hadn't. Another creature was floating inside each of them. It wasn't the same type as before, the only similarity was a lack of eyes. This one looked like a huge blue frogman. They weren't moving, thankfully, save for random twitching, as if the things were asleep. Marcus slowly walked back to the elevator, heading back to the group.

The elevator ride took too long to get away from those things in the basement. As Marcus rode the elevator, he again heard intermittent bursts of gunfire from the lobby. He shivered. Hopefully those things wouldn't wake up, but if they did, Marcus hoped they couldn't use an elevator. They probably could, though, Marcus had heard of zombies surprising a few UBCS members by bursting out of an elevator, so if zombies could do it…

He shivered again. The fact that these things were in high-tech stasis tubes in the hospital's basement implied quite a bit. O'Neil's theories were looking more plausible every minute.


	5. Chapter 5

As Marcus stepped out of the elevator, he heard a loud BANG. He sighed. He knew what that meant.

As he entered room 307, he saw Richard lowering his smoking pistol. The contents of James's head were splashed all over the walls.

"So what was it that got him?" Tyrell asked. "Wasn't a civvie, was it?"

"A creature. Long tongue, no eyes, exposed brain." Vincent muttered. "I don't know what the fuck it was."

"Why did you lie to me, Stalvern?" Tyrell questioned. He raised his sidearm to Vincent's face. "How do I know you aren't infected yourself?"

"Put it down, sir." Marcus ordered, raising his own pistol. Tyrell technically outranked him, but rank meant fuck-all now.

"I'm not infected." Vincent said, cold as death.

"Get out of my hospital, Stalvern. Take your squad, and leave." Tyrell was equally cold.

"You can't just kick us out!" Marcus started to protest.

"Can it, Reyner. We're leaving." Vincent muttered.

The elevator ride back to the lobby was silent. There was nothing to say.

As the doors opened up, O'Neil ran up.

"Sir, good of you to show up. We're running low on ammo, and were thinking of making a run to Kendo's. Care to join us?" he was about to say something else, but he noticed James wasn't there, and looked to the floor.

"Affirmative, Glass. Let's get Oscar Mike."

As the squad exited the hospital's lobby, Marcus tapped on O'Neil's shoulder.

"The fuck you want, Reyner?" Glass snarled.

"Exactly how reliable is your source of information on Umbrella's science division? Don't bullshit me." he whispered.

"I'd trust the guy with my life."

"I saw something interesting in the hospital's basement."

"Holy shit, really? I thought that Mueller guy was just fuckin' with me!" O'Neil exclaimed.

"You got something you two wanna share?" Vincent asked.

"Reyner saw some crazy shit in the basement, he says." Glass said, shrugging.

"What'd you see, Reyner? And when did you plan on sharing it with me?" Vincent asked, keeping his voice cold.

"Sir, I saw another creature in a stasis tube, sir." Marcus admitted. "I just didn't think of mentioning it."

"Don't bullshit me, Reyner. You don't feel you can trust me because I lied to Tyrell." Vincent snapped. "Just say it!"

"Sir, I didn't feel I could trust you because you lied to a fellow officer, SIR!" Marcus shouted.

Vincent pulled his knife from its sheath and put it to Marcus's throat.

"Next time you see something, Corporal, tell me. It could save all of our lives." he snarled.

"LT, calm down." O'Neil started to try to defuse the situation. Vincent put the knife to his throat.

"And you, Glass. NEVER engage in back-channel mumbling again, or so help me I will have them put you back in that Turkish prison you came from! This is not a fucking GAME, men! This is life or death! And if I have to sacrifice every single one of you motherfuckers so I can survive to see my wife and daughter again, I will not fucking hesitate. I will put you down, just like I put down James! I would expect the same from any of you. DO YOU READ ME, MEN?" he roared.

"SIR, YES SIR!" was the response.

Vincent sheathed his knife.

"Then let's work together so I don't have to kill any of you." he said.


	6. Chapter 6

Kendo's was somehow still standing. The team stacked up against the door, and knocked.

"HUMAN!" Vincent bellowed.

The door opened, and a large man ushered them inside. He started to say something, but Vincent cut him off.

"Sir… Mr. Kendo, we need ammunition. What do you have for us?" he asked.

"Well, let's see what you got. Those M4s, they original models or A1s?" he asked.

"What does it matter?" Vincent snapped.

"Nothing, just curious. So, what outfit you guys with? Marines, Army?" Kendo asked, absent-mindedly sorting through boxes for ammunition.

"Well, I don't have a lot of 5.56, but I got plenty of .223. You can use that." he continued.

"Got any 12-gauge?" Vincent asked, unslinging James's Benelli.

"Not too much. Last band of people took most of it. The buckshot, at least. I got about 30 slugs left."

"We'll take them. How about .308?" Vincent asked.

"Nope. No .308. Sorry. Just ain't a popular round in this neck of the woods. You need a new DMR, I still got an HK91. With some 20-round mags, to boot. 7.62 isn't too much of a step down, plus it's H&K perfection, you know. Even got a scope mount for it."

"Glass, give the man your M1A, and take that HK."

O'Neil hesitated.

"GLASS."

Begrudgingly, he unslung his rifle and propped it against the wall. Kendo handed him the H&K.

"So, you didn't answer my question; what outfit you boys with?" Kendo asked.

"We're from the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Services." Vincent said.

"Never heard of ya." Kendo admitted."No you haven't." Vince said, brass checking his sidearm. "You got any 9mm?"

"Not much. Got maybe 3 boxes left."

"Any Glasers, or Hollowpoints?" Marcus asked.

Kendo shook his head.

"How many pistol mags you got left, Reyner?" Vince asked.

Marcus checked.

"3 in the vest, one in the pistol." he ejected his pistol's mag to check the load. "12 rounds left in the mag, one in the chamber."

"You don't need anymore ammo. Kendo, I'll take two of your boxes of 9mm, leave you with one."

"You mean I'm not coming with you?" he asked, confused.

"No." Vincent said. "Keep half of your remaining ammo. We'll take the rest."

"Are you going to come back for me?" Kendo asked.

Vincent looked at him.

"No."


	7. Chapter 7

"Where do we head now, LT?" Marcus asked.

"The police station." Vincent replied, racking a load into James's Benelli.

"Why? What's the point? Irons can't have survived. This city is FUBAR." Richard asked.

"Because it's the mission." Vincent replied.

"Fuck the mission!" O'Neil said. "It was never in the briefing that we'd be facing fucking demons! Fuck this mission and fuck Umbrella!"

Vincent raised his head from loading the Benelli to glare at O'Neil for a few seconds, before slinging it and briskly marching over and grabbing O'Neil by the chin.

"No, fuck YOU, you belligerent little shit! I am SICK of all your fucking WHINING! This is going to be my last goddamn mission, and I will not have the reason it's my last mission be because I died, or got fired! Sure, Umbrella probably IS the cause of all this. I don't know, and I don't give a fuck! But it doesn't matter, because I have a job to do! And if you don't want to do this job, I suggest you get the fuck away from me, RIGHT NOW. You want to leave? Then LEAVE. I don't want you covering my six anyways!" he roared, throwing O'Neil to the ground. O'Neil sat in shock for a few seconds, before he got up and dusted himself off.

"Fuck you, LT." he mumbled, turning away to leave. "Come on, Rich. Fuck this guy."

Richard gave the LT a look, and shook his head before turning and walking away with O'Neil.

Marcus just stared. He felt like a PFC again, a scared little kid who couldn't figure out what to do.

He glanced at Vincent, who just glared at the fading figures of O'Neil and Richard. He waited until they were completely out of sight before he turned to Marcus.

"What's it gonna be, Reyner?" he asked. But it wasn't a question.

"I'm with you, sir." Marcus said weakly, saluting.

"The police station isn't very far. Just a few blocks. Let's get Oscar Mike."


	8. Chapter 8

Vincent only had to fire the Benelli twice on the way to the station. Both shots were up-close headshots, obliterating the undeads' melons.

Marcus covered him the whole way. He heard scuffling and claws grating metal, but nothing but zombies showed up.

The large front doors of the police station loomed in front of the two.

Marcus could hear gunfire from within. Sounded like handguns, with a few shotgun blasts here and there.

Screams, too.

Vincent opened the left door, and ushered Marcus in, silently.

The front hall was empty.

Vincent immediately headed to the desk behind the statue, turned the computer on, and started typing.

Marcus headed towards the back hallway. His friend Dorian was an officer, maybe he was here.

He knocked on the door, twice, and an officer opened it. His nameplate read Branaugh.

"Officer Branaugh. We're from the UBCS. We're here to evac Chief Irons." Marcus said.

"Just Irons?" Branaugh asked, disappointed.

"I'm sure we're coming back later, but Irons is mission priority right now." Marcus assured him.

"Reyner! I found his office, let's get oscar mike!" Vincent barked.

"You'll be back?" Branaugh asked, wary.

"I'll be back. Promise." Marcus said.

The hallway to Irons's office was packed with art. If memory served him correctly, Marcus had been told the station used to be an art museum. Still was, by the looks of it.

As Marcus turned the corner, he nearly shat his pants. The stuffed tiger that startled him had eyes that glinted in the light, as if laughing at him. Still, he wouldn't have been surprised if he got attacked by a tiger; at this point, it'd probably be a relief.

"Fuck you." he whispered, staring right into those eyes. That was when he saw the thing on the ceiling.

"FUCK!" he yelled, swinging his rifle to bear on the creature, not bothering to line up the front sight, the back sight would do.

The thing did a grotesque dance as he riddled it with bullets, those exposed brains painting the walls. Even when it stopped moving, Marcus continued to pull the trigger until his bolt locked back.

"Fucking hell! How many of these things are there?" Marcus asked no one in particular, dropping the empty mag from his weapon and loading in a fresh source, smacking the bolt release.

"Only takes one to kill you, does it matter how many more there are?" Vincent asked. He opened the door at the end of the hallway.

"IRONS" he shouted.

**BANG!**

A .50 caliber round grazed Vincent's shoulder, probably destroying it. If it had been any closer, Vince would probably have been out an arm. Vincent fell back, and took cover against the side of the door.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" Irons yelled from his office, firing again.

"Dammit! The guy's insane!" Vincent grumbled. "Marcus, do you have any grenades?"

"We aren't issued flash bangs, sir. You know that." Marcus replied.

"I meant frags." Vincent growled.

"I thought we were supposed to RESCUE Irons, sir."

"Nope. Rescue if possible, eliminate if necessary. And I'm deeming it fucking necessary."

Vince had lied again.

"I haven't got any frags, sir." Marcus muttered.

"Shit. Well, I'm not risking a frontal assault. He's got us bottlenecked, and for all we know, he could have an entire armory in there. So if he doesn't want rescue, fuck him. YOU HEAR THAT, IRONS? FUCK YOU!" Vincent yelled, struggling to get up. "Let's get out of here, Reyner."

"Sir, I respectfully have to ask that you tell me what the fuck is going on. Aren't we supposed to be here to rescue civilians? So far, all we've done is inconvenience them, and dash their hopes of rescue!" Marcus demanded.

Vincent sighed.

"I wish I could tell you, Marcus. But the corporation has deemed it necessary to consider this mission classified on a need-to-know basis, and you don't need to know the reasoning behind my orders to follow them." he replied.

"Sir, fuck your classification bullshit! Just tell me what the fuck we're supposed to do!" Marcus yelled.

Vincent shook his head.

"Marcus, just trust me on this. You don't want to know. Plausible deniability is an asset right now." he said, his voice almost pleading. "Now let's get out of here, get to the evac site."


	9. Chapter 9

"Sir, what about the civilians here? Surely our secondary mission would be to evacuate civilians!" Marcus exclaimed, as Vincent opened the doors to the Police Station.

"Marcus, our mission is to get this briefcase back to the higher-ups. Nothing else. We don't HAVE a secondary mission." Vincent replied, stepping out the doors.

Marcus bit his lip as he looked back to lobby.

"We have to get to the Clock Tower soon." Vincent said, checking his watch. "It's 1840. Our ride leaves at Oh-Dawn-Hundred."

"Why?" Marcus asked.

"Don't ask."

As they passed the pet shop, Marcus noticed the Dobermans inside lying dead. Looked fresh.

"FUCK!" Vincent yelled.

"Sir?"

"This fucking gate is locked! Why the fuck would they do that?" Vincent yelled, pounding on the gate.

"Sir, we could climb over it, these cars provide sufficient height." Marcus suggested.

"Duly noted, Corporal, let's do it."

As they climbed over the gate, Marcus hooked a rope onto the top of the wall, so he could get over if he needed to go back.

Vincent cleared the alley beyond the next door. He had to put down two corpses. Looks like the politicians locking themselves in didn't help.

As the two came upon the tram to the clock tower, the heat of the fire and the smoke nearly blinded them. A huge tanker had crashed beside the tram. Hopefully the wreckage wouldn't get in their way.

Vince ran inside the tram, and tried to start it. No response. The engine stayed silent. Vincent tried the old "Percussive Maintenance" trick, but still, nothing. He tore open the maintenance panel. The engine was obviously missing pieces.

"DAMMIT!" Vincent screamed, falling to his knees.

Marcus moved to comfort him, but just Vincent curled up and cried.

After a few minutes, he stood up, and tried to regain his composure.

"Any ideas, Corporal?" he asked, taking off his sunglasses and wiping away his tears. Marcus could see lots of dark bags under his eyes. He must be having other problems, he couldn't have gotten sleep for the past week.

"We could try the sewers. There's gotta be a manhole near the clock tower. We just take this map over there on the wall, and find our way through the sewers. There's a manhole just over there."

"Let's pry it up, Reyner."

As they dropped the manhole cover beside them, Marcus wretched. Raccoon had one of the most complicated, vast, twisting, least-maintained sewer systems in America.

"I'd ask what died in there, but it'd probably be in bad taste." Vincent said, lowering himself in, and switching on the Surefire tac-light attached to James's Benelli. Marcus did the same with the tac-light on his M4. It was probably unnecessary, the sewer was slightly lit, but better to have a light on than have to squint. Vincent had taken off his sunglasses, because it's dumb to wear sunglasses in a sewer.

Marcus swore he heard footsteps, and he couldn't definitely assure himself he was hearing things. Same with the moans and roars he heard.

Vincent headed into a hole in the wall. Marcus noticed how recent it was, and how it was definitely put there by C4. A dead dog laid inside, shot through the head. A laptop was strewn on the floor. Vincent picked it up, closing it, slipping it inside his vest's back plate holder

"What's that, sir?" Marcus asked.

"Intel." he replied.

"On what?"

Vincent didn't reply to that. He left the room.

Marcus followed.

A few passageways later, Marcus heard the footsteps again. Closer this time. He tried to ignore them. He was probably imagining them. Then they stopped, which would probably be a relief, if that silence hadn't immediately been broken by the sound of a slide racking, a round being chambered.

"Hello, Stalvern. Fancy seeing you here. I see you have the briefcase." A Russian voice drifted from behind Marcus and Vincent. "Put it down."

Vincent turned, raising his hands. Marcus followed suit. Platoon D Squad B's CO was standing behind him, holding his sidearm on him and Vincent.

"Ginovaef." Vincent muttered.

"I'm so flattered you recognize me from the Observer meeting. I see you've brought a friend." Nicholai said, pointing the gun at Marcus. "I've used all of my pawns so far. But I never was very good at rationing."

"What?" Marcus asked. Nicholai shook his head, smiling.

"You see, my pawns just got too curious. So I had to play them early. But I see your friend is very trusting."

"What is he talking about, LT?" Marcus asked.

"Nicholai, Irons was my mission, I don't think the company is going to give you a bonus if you bring in my intel." Vincent said.

"What the fuck are YOU talking about?" Marcus asked.

"Marcus, it's none of your concern! Stay out of this!" Vincent barked.

"Come, now, Stalvern, there's no reason to protect him. I'm going to kill him anyways." Nicholai chided. He stopped, thinking. "Unless you'd like to do it. My only concern is that briefcase."

"Nicholai, I can't give you this." Vincent said, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"If you don't, I'll have to shoot you, and I would rather not do that in an enclosed space like this. I might damage my hearing." Nicholai teased.

"Ginovaef, I have to give them this or they'll kill my family!" Vincent pleaded.

"Your family is already dead." Nicholai said coldly. "Give me the briefcase."

"I… I can't. You're gonna have to-" Vincent started.

**BANG.**

Nicholai didn't let him finish, putting a hole in Vince's chest. Vincent fell to the floor, gasping.

Marcus moved to pull his own sidearm, but Nicholai swung his to bear on Marcus.

"Don't make me shoot you yet. My ears are still ringing, and-" He started, but was interrupted by a roar. He laughed, heading over to Vincent. " I need to save my bullets. But don't worry, you won't make it out of the city anyways." he chuckled, taking the briefcase from Vincent's hand, and backing away into the darkness.


End file.
